10 Best Famous Unveils Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Unveils poems. This is a select list of the best famous Unveils poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Unveils poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of unveils poems.

• All Famous Unveils Poems

 UPON a garden's perfum'd bed 
With various gaudy colours spread, 
Beneath the shelter of a ROSE 
A BUTTERFLY had sought repose; 
Faint, with the sultry beams of day, 
Supine the beauteous insect lay. 

A BEE, impatient to devour
The nectar sweets of ev'ry flow'r, 
Returning to her golden store, 
A weight of fragrant treasure bore; 
With envious eye, she mark'd the shade, 
Where the poor BUTTERFLY was laid, 
And resting on the bending spray, 
Thus murmur'd forth her drony lay:­ 

"Thou empty thing, whose merit lies 
In the vain boast of orient dies; 
Whose glittering form the slightest breath 
Robs of its gloss, and fades to death; 
Who idly rov'st the summer day, 
Flutt'ring a transient life away, 
Unmindful of the chilling hour, 
The nipping frost, the drenching show'r; 
Who heedless of "to-morrow's fare," 
Mak'st present bliss thy only care; 
Is it for THEE, the damask ROSE 
With such transcendent lustre glows? 
Is it for such a giddy thing 
Nature unveils the blushing spring? 
Hence, from thy lurking place, and know, 
'Tis not for THEE her beauties glow." 

The BUTTERFLY, with decent pride, 
In gentle accents, thus reply'd: 
"'Tis true, I flutter life away 
In pastime, innocent and gay; 
The SUN that decks the blushing spring 
Gives lustre to my painted wing; 
'Tis NATURE bids each colour vie, 
With rainbow tints of varying die; 
I boast no skill, no subtle pow'r 
To steal the balm from ev'ry flow'r; 
The ROSE, that only shelter'd ME, 
Has pour'd a load of sweets on THEE; 
Of merit we have both our share, 
Heav'n gave thee ART, and made me FAIR; 
And tho' thy cunning can despise 
The humble worth of harmless flies; 
Remember, envious, busy thing, 
Thy honey'd form conceals a sting; 
Enjoy thy garden, while I rove 
The sunny hill, the woodbine grove, 
And far remov'd from care and THEE, 
Embrace my humble destiny; 
While in some lone sequester'd bow'r, 
I'll live content beyond thy pow'r;
For where ILL-NATURE holds her reign 
TASTE, WORTH, and BEAUTY, plead in vain; 
E'en GENIUS must to PRIDE submit 
When ENVY wings the shaft of WIT.

 You ask me how to pray to someone who is not.
All I know is that prayer constructs a velvet bridge
And walking it we are aloft, as on a springboard,
Above landscapes the color of ripe gold
Transformed by a magic stopping of the sun.
That bridge leads to the shore of Reversal
Where everything is just the opposite and the word 'is'
Unveils a meaning we hardly envisioned.
Notice: I say we; there, every one, separately,
Feels compassion for others entangled in the flesh
And knows that if there is no other shore
We will walk that aerial bridge all the same.

 SWEET CHILD OF REASON! maid serene; 
With folded arms, and pensive mien, 
Who wand'ring near yon thorny wild, 
So oft, my length'ning hours beguil'd; 
Thou, who within thy peaceful call, 
Canst laugh at LIFE'S tumultuous care, 
While calm repose delights to dwell 
On beds of fragrant roses there; 
Where meek-ey'd PATIENCE waits to greet 
The woe-worn Trav'ller's weary feet, 
'Till by her blest and cheering ray 
The clouds of sorrow fade away; 
Where conscious RECTITUDE retires; 
Instructive WISDOM; calm DESIRES; 
Prolific SCIENCE,­lab'ring ART; 
And GENIUS, with expanded heart. 

Far from thy lone and pure domain, 
Steals pallid GUILT, whose scowling eye 
Marks the rack'd soul's convulsive pain, 
Tho' hid beneath the mask of joy; 
Madd'ning AMBITION'S dauntless band; 
Lean AVARICE with iron hand; 
HYPOCRISY with fawning tongue; 
Soft FLATT'RY with persuasive song; 
Appall'd in gloomy shadows fly, 
From MEDITATION'S piercing eye. 

How oft with thee I've stroll'd unseen 
O'er the lone valley's velvet green; 
And brush'd away the twilight dew 
That stain'd the cowslip's golden hue; 
Oft, as I ponder'd o'er the scene, 
Would mem'ry picture to my heart, 
How full of grief my days have been, 
How swiftly rapt'rous hours depart; 
Then would'st thou sweetly reas'ning say, 
"TIME journeys thro' the roughest day." 

THE HERMIT, from the world retir'd, 
By calm Religion's voice inspir'd, 
Tells how serenely time glides on, 
From crimson morn, 'till setting sun; 
How guiltless, pure, and free from strife, 
He journeys thro' the vale of Life; 
Within his breast nor sorrows mourn, 
Nor cares perplex, nor passions burn; 
No jealous fears, or boundless joys, 
The tenor of his mind destroys; 
And when revolving mem'ry shows 
The thorny world's unnumber'd woes; 
He blesses HEAV'N's benign decree, 
That gave his days to PEACE and THEE. 

The gentle MAID, whose roseate bloom 
Fades fast within a cloyster's gloom; 
Far by relentless FATE remov'd, 
From all her youthful fancy lov'd; 
When her warm heart no longer bleeds, 
And cool Reflection's hour succeeds; 
Led by THY downy hand, she strays 
Along the green dell's tangled maze; 
Where thro' dank leaves, the whisp'ring show'rs 
Awake to life the fainting flow'rs; 
Absorb'd by THEE, she hears no more 
The distant torrent's fearful roar; 
The well-known VESPER's silver tone; 
The bleak wind's desolating moan; 
No more she sees the nodding spires, 
Where the dark bird of night retires; 
While Echo chaunts her boding song 
The cloyster's mould'ring walls among; 
No more she weeps at Fate's decree, 
But yields her pensive soul to THEE. 

THE SAGE, whose palsy'd head bends low 
'Midst scatter'd locks of silv'ry snow; 
Still by his MIND's clear lustre tells, 
What warmth within his bosom dwells; 
How glows his heart with treasur'd lore, 
How rich in Wisdom's boundless store; 
In fading Life's protracted hour, 
He smiles at Death's terrific pow'r; 
He lifts his radiant eyes, which gleam 
With Resignation's sainted beam: 
And, as the weeping star of morn, 
Sheds lustre on the wither'd thorn, 
His tear benign, calm comfort throws, 
O'er rugged Life's corroding woes; 
His pious soul's enlighten'd rays 
Dart forth, to gild his wint'ry days; 
He smiles serene at Heav'n's decree, 
And his last hour resigns to THEE. 

When Learning, with Promethean art, 
Unveils to light the youthful heart; 
When on the richly-budding spray, 
The glorious beams of Genius play; 
When the expanded leaves proclaim 
The promis'd fruits of rip'ning Fame; 
O MEDITATION, maid divine! 
Proud REASON owns the work is THINE. 

Oft, have I known thy magic pow'r, 
Irradiate sorrow's wint'ry hour; 
Oft, my full heart to THEE hath flown, 
And wept for mis'ries not its own; 
When pinch'd with agonizing PAIN, 
My restless bosom dar'd complain; 
Oft have I sunk upon THY breast, 
And lull'd my weary mind to rest; 
'Till I have own'd the blest decree, 
That gave my soul to PEACE and THEE.

 And a poet said, "Speak to us of Beauty." 

Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide? 

And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech? 

The aggrieved and the injured say, "Beauty is kind and gentle. 

Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us." 

And the passionate say, "Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread. 

Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us." 

The tired and the weary say, "beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit. 

Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow." 

But the restless say, "We have heard her shouting among the mountains, 

And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions." 

At night the watchmen of the city say, "Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east." 

And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, "we have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset." 

In winter say the snow-bound, "She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills." 

And in the summer heat the reapers say, "We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair." 

All these things have you said of beauty. 

Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied, 

And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy. 

It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth, 

But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted. 

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear, 

But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears. 

It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw, 

But rather a garden forever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight. 

People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face. 

But you are life and you are the veil. 

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror. 

But you are eternity and you are the mirror.

 The gulls are mad-in-love with the river,
And the river unveils her face and smiles.
In her sleep-brooding eyes they mirror their shining wings.
She lies on silver pillows: the sun leans over her.
He warms and warms her, he kisses and kisses her.
There are sparks in her hair and she stirs in laughter.
Be careful, my beautiful waking one! You will catch
on fire.
Wheeling and flying with the foam of the sea on their
breasts,
The ineffable mists of the sea clinging to their wild wings,
Crying the rapture of the boundless ocean,
The gulls are mad-in-love with the river.
Wake! we are the dream thoughts flying form your heart.
Wake! we are the songs of desire flowing from your
bosom.
O, I think the sun will lend her his great wings
And the river will fly to the sea with the mad-in-
love birds.